


And May Each And Every One Of Us Always Give The Devil His Due

by pasiphile



Category: Sherlock (TV), The Sandman
Genre: Crossover, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-01
Updated: 2012-09-01
Packaged: 2017-11-13 07:49:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/501161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pasiphile/pseuds/pasiphile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian Moran meets the Endless, with a guest appearance from War.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And May Each And Every One Of Us Always Give The Devil His Due

**Author's Note:**

> I have honestly no idea where this came from (I'm looking at you, Delirium).

Your legs feel crushed. You know, rationally, that this is still better than not feeling your legs at all, but right now you mostly just want it to _stop._

You don't even have the strength to move your head, which is bloody unfortunate, considering you're now forced to look at the body of your lieutenant. He's torn apart, legs simply gone, ribcage torn open, fragments of bones glinting white in the sparse light. Occasionally the body moves slightly when an explosion hits nearby. At least, you hope it's just the explosions. Dear _god_ , you hope he's dead.

There's someone else here too, crouched down next to his body. She's dressed in all black, arms bare, hair a great tangled mess, and she shouldn't look like she belongs here but she does.

So now you're hallucinating goth girls. Fucking brilliant.

Another explosion makes the ground judder beneath you, and you groan as fresh stab of pain shoots up your legs.

The girl turns her head and gives you a sympathetic smile.

'As long as it hurts, you know you're still alive,' she says.

'Huzzah for me,' you reply, clenching your teeth.

She turns her head back to the lieutenant, looking at him with the sort of tender expression you've seen on mothers watching their newborn children. It's almost enough to make you jealous.

'Is he dead?' you ask when you've got enough breath to speak.

'Not yet. But he's almost there.' She reaches out and brushes a strand of hair out of his eyes, then glances at you. 'Funny. You didn't seem the type, y'know? To see me? Or maybe...' another fleeting look from those dark eyes. 'Maybe you are. Not easily fooled, are you? Like to see what's really there. Oh, there we are,' she adds, and the lieutenant makes another of those shivering movements.

A moment later she relaxes and turns to you, crossing her legs, as easily as if she was sitting on the sofa at home, instead of in the middle of a bloody battlefield.

'Am I dying?'

'Right now? No.' She bites her lip, looking thoughtful. 'Although if you wanted to, you could do it now. It would be easier. You've got a long way ahead of you yet.'

'No. I won't go yet.' You roll your head, trying to get a good look at her. 'Don't you have somewhere else to be? This place - '

She smiles. 'I can spare a minute to keep you company.'

Smoke catches in your lungs and you cough painfully.  She makes another sympathetic face. Sympathy, not pity, as if she knows exactly what you're going through.

'So, no cloak, no scythe?' you ask, once the coughing fit is over.

'I can, if you want me to. But I like looking like this, it's more - '

'Chirpy?'

'I was gonna say unintimidating.'

You close your eyes and ride out another wave of pain. When you open them again, another woman has joined you both. She looks familiar, which is ridiculous because you would remember a woman like that. Red hair and a red smile, terrifyingly beautiful and you fall in love, just a little bit. Her eyes reflect the flames.

_(Several years later you'll look into a pair of dark eyes and see the exact same flame, and you fall in love then, too)_

'Found one of mine?' she purrs at the other woman.

'More my brother's than yours, if you ask me.'

'He's retired. And besides,' she reaches out and brushes your cheek, and you shiver, not quite in pain, 'what is War if not the ultimate expression of Destruction?'

'Here comes the cavalry,' Death says, and they both stand up.

War looks down one more time and winks. 'Keep up the good work, lad.'

A few minutes later the medics arrive and you faint while they drag you onto a stretcher.

***

'Hi,' a voice like honey says at your ear.

You look up from your pint and see the most beautiful person you've ever seen. She – or he? – touches your arm and you feel an urgent need to get closer, to take, to possess. His eyes are a dark, tawny yellow, too strange to be human, and you pull your arm out of his reach.

'Who're you supposed to be, then?' you say gruffly, and he, she, _it_ smiles.

'Oh, I think you know me very well.'

You shiver at her voice. Months of pining after Jim Moriarty with hardly any hope of him ever reciprocating, of course you know who she is.

'Why are you here?' you ask.

He smiles again, a cruel twist of red red lips. 'To see you burn. You make a very pretty fire, boy.'

'That's nice to know.' You put down your empty glass and stand up. 'But I don't intend to burn for the rest of my life.'

'Dear, sweet boy,' she says, standing up as well. She reaches out and puts a long-fingered hand on your crotch, and the sheer heat of it makes your knees buckle. 'What you _intend_ has very little to do with what will actually happen. And believe me, compared to what's coming, what you're feeling now is only a small spark.'

He leans forward and kisses you lightly on the lips. When you open your eyes again, he's gone, leaving you hard and frustrated and desperate.

But that's what Desire does.

***

Jim's asleep. He isn't inhuman, whatever people may think, but he doesn't sleep much, and it's rare that you're awake to see him dreaming. His eyes shift rapidly beneath his pale eyelids, as if even in dreams he doesn't stop planning. He makes a quiet noise and tosses his head like he's in pain.

Nightmares.

You look up and see _something_ in the corner of the dark room.

'I think I know who you are,' you say, softly so you won't wake Jim.

'You are very perceptive, Sebastian Moran. You can call me Daniel, if you want.'

'Yeah?' You sit up. 'So tell me, _Daniel,_ why don't you give him his peace?'

He crosses the room, his white robes billowing. 'This is not my doing,' he says, looking down at Jim. 'It is his own mind that conjures up these images that torture him.'

'And you can't help him?'

He looks at you with bottomless eyes. 'And what will you give me in return, Sebastian Moran?'

You open your mouth to answer, _anything you ask_ , but something stops you, your grandmother's stories about fairies and magical food and being trapped under the earth for a hundred years. _Never make deals with people who aren't your equals_ , she used to say, _for they play by different rules_.

You shake your head and Dream almost smiles.

When you look down again Jim's eyes are open. He's frowning at you.

'Were you talking?'

Go back to sleep,' you tell him, and he pulls a face but rolls onto his side and closes his eyes again.

You can't protect him when he's asleep, but you can wake him up, and that has to be enough.

***

Several yards away Jim is dancing to his iPod.

You don't need to look aside to know who's there. You recognize the not-quite-change in the air, the way everything sort of loses its focus. You don't recognize the voice, though.

'That's one of mine. I like mine, they feel like you've just drunk one of those fizzy drinks that go crack! fizzle! except they get up your nose where they're not supposed to be and then it tastes like lightning.'

'Lightning doesn't have a taste,' you say, staring steadily ahead. It's not like you don't have experience in dealing with weird non-sequiturs.

'It does, it tastes like like like... like bats flying and the way sunburn smells and um, copper, there's copper there too. See? I know things.'

You look to the left, into multi-coloured eyes. 'He's not yours, anyway. Not entirely.'

She cocks her head, dirty blond hair falling in front of her face. 'Most people are slightly mine. I bet you didn't know that, did you? There's that teeny tiny little bit in the back of their skull that goes wheeee! every time fireworks go off.' She tilts her head to the other side. 'But not you. You're solid, like rock, like walls, like Troy.' She stares off in the distance. 'I like Troy. Liked. Will like. I never remember, which way does time go again?' She takes your face suddenly in both hands and stares into your eyes. 'Why is that?'

'That you can't remember?'

'That you're not mine. Why aren't you mine? Why are you rocks?'

You take her hand and pull it gently off your face. 'Cause Jim needs something solid or he'll fly away.'

'Like the doggie? He said things that made sense when I couldn't.'

'Something like that.' You look calmly into Delirium's eyes. She doesn't blink.  'I won't let him become yours,' you say slowly.

She smiles. 'My sister-brother said you'd do that. Y'know? Push back? I like you, Mr. Rock, even if you don't belong to me.'

She touches your nose, you blink and she's gone, leaving nothing but a lingering taste of lemon ice cream on your tongue.

'Oi,' you shout at Jim, who's stopped spinning, 'You mad bastard, we need to get back in.' He drops his arms and follows you inside.

***

The day after James Moriarty dies you get spectacularly, staggeringly drunk. The hotel room is wrecked by now – you can't go back to your flat, not now, not ever – and there's blood on your hands. But you can only rage and kick and scream so long before exhaustion takes over. You press your hands into your temples, squeeze your eyes shut.

When you open them again, there's someone squatting in the far corner.

_(It's always like that, they don't appear in a puff of smoke, they just are, or they are not, there's no moment in between)_

You look up and stare hard at the pale figure, the dark eyes. The blood not quite dried on her hands mirrors your own, and it would be so easy to open your arms and welcome her in.

'You won't have me,' you croak. She doesn't smile – Despair does not show pleasure – but the next time you blink, she's gone.

***

Sherlock's pale grey eyes are fixed on you, and for all that he's supposed to be emotionless he's showing his anger now. But his hand is steady, as steady as yours.

You look over his shoulder to see a figure in a dark cowl. Others might think _Death_ , but you know the truth, know her gentle smile, and besides, who ever heard of Death carrying a book?

You've seen this one before, but only now do you remember that. When you signed up for the army, when you first saw Jim, when you handed Jim your gun before he went to meet Sherlock on the roof. Always the turning of pages in the background.

'Why are you doing this?' Sherlock asks, frustration giving his cold voice life for once.

You look back at him and smile. 'Destiny,' you say, and you pull the trigger, a fraction of a second too late.


End file.
